


The Womb of Nature

by const_ance (orphan_account)



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Constance/d'Artagnan doesn't happen until later, Gen, also all the chapter titles are based off Paradise Lost, d'Artagnan bashing if you see it that way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 01:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3591765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/const_ance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> Constance could hardly believe d'Artagnan's guilt, despite the evidence. If she was being honest to herself, she didn't want to believe it. But it was true. It was dark and outrageous, but it was true. D'Artagnan had murdered Aramis and the Queen. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Under the care of Constance and the two remaining Musketeers, Louis d'Herblay grows up unaware of his nightmarish past. When d'Artagnan escapes from prison, truths are revealed, whispered secrets are undoubtedly found out, and Constance realises that, despite her promises, her godson is quite simply not safe. As Louis uncovers more about his parents and his family, he will discover something that not even Tréville could have predicted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Womb of Nature

"I want it out," snarled the King, glancing disgustedly at the swaddled baby and then towards Rochefort. "I am not having that filthy bastard child in my house!"

  
"But sire," said Rochefort slowly, "what do we tell the people? They will wonder why their King has disowned his son."

  
"It is not my son, Rochefort," spat the King, and he sighed and continued. "Tell them I am grieving. Tell them I need to be free of the child until I have remarried."

  
"Very well, sire. As you wish," said Rochefort, rising from his chair. He approached the crib, and with gentle hands he picked up the child. It made a gurgling sound and Rochefort scrunched up his nose. He carried the baby out of the room and approached Constance, who was in the hallway. She was cleaning quietly, no doubt still grieving for Her Majesty (and probably the Musketeer, too, Rochefort thought dully).

  
"Constance," he said in what he assumed was a normal volume, but the woman seemed to be slightly startled. Or maybe it was because he was holding a baby in his arms.

  
"Constance," repeated Rochefort, "you are relieved of your duties here. Take the child and go. Take it; take him," he corrected quickly, "somewhere safe. If that d'Artagnan has any help in Paris, they will no doubt attack our young prince here." He almost smirked at the blanched look that had appeared on Constance's face when he mentioned the name of the youngest Musketeer. "Change his surname. Keep him safe. You will be rewarded for this, as will the remaining Musketeer friends of yours. Endanger him, however," and this time Rochefort could not keep the smirk from his lips, "and the consequences will be severe. You could almost call it treason."

  
He passed the child to Constance, who had no choice but to retrieve him. The baby gurgled again, and Rochefort made to leave. "I will call somebody to collect the young prince's things. Collect your belongings and there will be a carriage waiting for you. God bless you, dear Constance. Take good care of our beloved heir."

  
He left, slamming the door behind him, and Constance was left alone with Prince Louis. She stared sadly down at the baby in her arms. He was already sprouting several dark hairs, no doubt Aramis's shade of brown. His eyes however, were exactly the same as his mother's, and immediately Constance knew that the boy would be hearing about having his mother's eyes for many years. Marguerite had brought down many of the prince's necessities, as well as Constance's personal belongings, and they approached the royal carriage together.

Marguerite put the two suitcases in the back of the carriage, and Constance sat in the front, still holding the prince for dear life. She had no idea how to explain any of this to Athos or Porthos. Their fellow Musketeer had had an affair with the Queen, and then they had both been brutally murdered, by d'Artagnan no less! And now, she realised, they would have to raise Aramis's son, and one day they would have to tell him how his father's  friend - no, brother - had betrayed his parents, and murdered them.

  
She shuddered as the carriage left the palace grounds, and felt sure that she was almost in tears.  
Constance didn't understand what it was that had provoked d'Artagnan to kill Aramis and Anne, and still she could not quite believe it was true. There was so much evidence, and it all pointed towards him. D'Artagnan had committed treason, which was in itself grounds for execution or hanging, and yet he had been subjected to neither. Instead he had been sent to prison in the palace dungeons. Sent to rot until his death, or until the King decided to either behead him or spare his life.

  
No, Constance could hardly believe d'Artagnan's guilt, despite the evidence. If she was being honest to herself, she didn't want to believe it. But it was true. It was dark and outrageous, but it was true. D'Artagnan had murdered Aramis and the Queen.

  
The carriage pulled up outside the garrison, and its driver helped Constance out. Tréville and Porthos were waiting in the doorway for her, confusion written across their faces. Porthos was the first to react, making his way to the carriage in long strides. He easily retrieved the suitcases and quickly entered the garrison. "What's going on?" he asked.

  
Tréville shut the door behind him as Constance began to speak.

"Rochefort relieved me of my duties today. He told me to take the prince away from the palace, and in turn away from ..." She stopped, not wanting to say d'Artagnan's name unless she truly had to. She shifted the baby in her arms as he gurgled quietly. "His things are in the blue suitcase. Rochefort told me to change his surname, I - I ... There may be some birth records in the suitcase too."

  
"You look dead on your feet," said Porthos gently. "Let me take him from you."

  
She passed the baby into Porthos's awaiting arms, and he rocked him gently against his chest before saying, "Let's see the papers, then."  
Constance opened the suitcase and found them neatly on the top of the prince's clothes and blanket. She turned around upon hearing footsteps, and Athos entered the room. Constance didn't know whether he was sober or not, and she found she didn't care either. Softly she began to read from the papers; "In the event that the parents of His Royal Highness, Prince Louis Charles Philip d'Herblay Bourbon, are unable to care for their son, they leave guardianship to his godparents, Constance Bonacieux and Charles d'Artagnan. In the unfortunate event that both of their son's godparents cannot care for him, they leave guardianship to a close friend, Athos de la Fère." Constance stopped, rereading the paragraph she had read out. Her hands shook, and she glanced to Athos, who was staring at the opposite wall in concentration. "He made him godfather," she burst out. "He made d'Artagnan godfather," and Constance's voice broke. "The boy - Louis - his godfather murdered his parents - I don't -"

  
"Constance," came Tréville's voice, "he's in your care, not d'Artagnan's." He ignored the flinches Athos and Porthos gave at the mention of his name. "Your godson is going to do wonderfully. There will come a day when you will have no choice but to tell him the truth, and the whole truth at that, but that will not be for a long time now."

  
Constance reached for a chair and sat shakily. "I just can't believe it's him they appointed as godfather," she said quietly. "Oh, if only I could go back and warn them!"

  
Athos, who hadn't said very much and was almost ready to pass out, shook his head. "There's no use dwelling on the past, Constance. That doesn't help." He gave a slight glance towards the baby; the last thing that remained of Aramis. "Focus on Louis. He needs you; he needs us, now and until we die." He took the baby from Porthos, and stared mournfully into his face. The baby gurgled, not understanding the atmosphere of the room, and secretly Athos was glad of it.

  
Porthos took Louis's suitcase in his hands. "I will make up your room."

  
Constance stared at the papers, and then back at Athos, who was cradling Louis as if he'd done it before. There was a look of content on the man's face as he held the baby, and she smiled slightly. "Rochefort told me to change his name," she said slowly. "I want to keep Louis."

  
"That's good," said Athos. "Babies need familiarity. He's been called Louis for so long, it'd confuse him if you started calling him something different."

  
"Louis Aramis d'Herblay," she said softly.

  
Tréville gave a short, approving nod, and Athos stared at the baby again. Louis gurgled (it was all he seemed to be doing, Athos thought, but then again, he was a baby).

  
"We'll be okay, won't we?" asked Constance hesitantly. "D'Artagnan won't bother us, will he? I mean, he's in prison."

  
"No harm will come to this child so long as we four live," said Athos firmly. "As for d'Artagnan, there is no way he could possibly escape. We will be safe."

  
Constance let out a breath she hadn't even realised she was holding. And there, in that moment, she swore to herself that she would not let Aramis or Anne down in keeping Louis safe, no matter what.

**Author's Note:**

> As for my first published piece of fan fiction in a long while, I'm pretty pleased about this one. I have most of the summary of what's going on in the story, so it shouldn't take long for the first chapter to be up.  
> Reviews are appreciated!


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